


Somewhere

by howterrifying



Series: The Denial Mode Series [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlolly - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howterrifying/pseuds/howterrifying
Summary: It takes being far away to make you realise whom you wish were beside you.(written 30 April 2015)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: The Denial Mode Series [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732471
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> The Denial Mode Series began in the midst of me struggling to get through my soap opera of a multi-chapter fic, The Admirer. In between, as a sort of refresher, and also as my way of ‘denying’ I had stuff to work on, I would call out for these prompts. The call was to either send me a single word or a single song. I received all sorts of lovely responses and these are the stories that developed from them. They mean a lot to me and I remember every single one of them from just looking at their titles. I hope you will enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them. :) x
> 
> ::
> 
> The delightful and ridiculously talented @artbylexie sent in the song prompt “England” by The National. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the prompt. It’s such a dreamy, melancholy song! I hope you’ll enjoy this, and that I did the song justice. :) x
> 
> “You must be somewhere in London,  
>  You must be loving your life in the rain.”

**Somewhere**

Christmas was always a miserable time for the detective, but he did not recall it being _this_ miserable. His travels throughout Eastern Europe had landed him back in Serbia, where the December snow and its cutting winds wreaked havoc on his body.

Sherlock had just finished meeting his Serbian counterparts and was on his way back. His home was a tiny room in an abandoned army barracks. He never stayed at any of Mycroft’s secret bases, and instead, had supplies sent to him discreetly. This was to ensure no one got wind of the fact that Sherlock was serving with MI6. On this particularly cold evening, however, he was sorely tempted to give his brother a call. He wanted to get out of this bitter winter, if only for a little bit.

His pride got the better of him and he shrugged the idea away. Sherlock switched on the solitary bulb that hung from the ceiling and realised he had been delivered something. It was a single brown envelope but with a seal he recognised as exclusively his brother’s. What was it now? A complication? New evidence? A plane ticket home? Sherlock smirked to himself at that last thought. A plane ticket home would be most welcome right now.

With a sigh, he slit open the envelope only to find a simple handwritten note from his brother.

_Meet at the usual pick-up point.  
2330hrs.  
You are required at base._

This was rather perfect, thought the detective. He was going to get some warmth, a proper hot shower, and all without having had to ask his brother. Whatever it was that his brother needed him for did not matter. He was going to get a break from all this bloody snow. Sherlock checked his watch and saw there was still some time left to go. He decided to rest, as there was no point eating or having a bath here if he was headed to base.

At the required time, Sherlock headed to their spot by a quiet dock area and was whisked away to one of Mycroft’s secret intelligence units. When the doors opened to a crisp, dry corridor, hidden deep in the Serbian underground, the detective almost fainted with delight. It was nice to feel his fingertips once more. Removing his gloves and rubbing his hands gratefully, he followed the guards that had picked him up to where his brother was waiting.

“Evening, Sherlock,” said Mycroft, when he saw his brother being ushered in.   
“It’s good to be here,” Sherlock responded, which was the closest to a _thank you_ Mycroft was going to get.   
“I won’t be long,” Mycroft began, pushing a small laptop to Sherlock, “Here.”   
“What’s this?” the detective asked, raising an eyebrow.   
“I’m going to leave the room.” Mycroft said, getting up, “And when I’ve done so, you are to open the laptop, and click on the icon right in the centre of the screen.”  
“And? What’s supposed to happen after that?”  
“You’ll know what to do,” Mycroft answered with a smile, “Have a good evening.”

Perplexed, Sherlock eyed his brother as he walked out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind him. Sherlock leaned forward, resting his elbows on his brother’s desk.

“What have we here…” he whispered.

Sherlock followed his brother’s very simple instructions. He opened the laptop and saw nothing on the black screen save for a single icon in the shape of a little bell. Gently, he drew his finger across the touchpad of the laptop and moved the cursor to rest on top of the little white bell. The detective was terribly curious, and also a little nervous, if he was being honest.

“Right. Here we go,” he said, taking in a deep breath.

He was surprised to hear a ring tone the moment he clicked it. It rang only four times before he heard a click, and suddenly, the screen was no longer black.

“Hello,” said the face that appeared on the screen in front of him.

It was Molly. Molly Hooper. Sherlock’s eyes went wide, and for a moment, had no words to say.

“Is this a technical glitch or are you just…not talking?” she asked, squinting as she leaned forward to peer a little closer at her own screen.   
“No, no, no glitch. He—Hello, Molly,” he said, smiling awkwardly.   
“How are you?” she asked, “Your brother’s told me it’s cold where you are.”  
“It is indeed,” said the detective nodding, “And how are you?”  
“I’m fine. The same.” she replied, with a smile.

The detective did a quick calculation in his head. When was the last time he had seen Molly? When was the last time that they had spoken? Yes, he remembered now. It was just a few months ago, right after his ‘fall’. She had been the one to revive him and to check that he was physically able continue in his pursuit of Moriarty. He never got to thank her, among other things.

“You must be somewhere in….London?” he asked suddenly.   
“Well, obviously…” she said with a laugh, “Have your powers of deduction gone numb from the cold?”

He smiled. He missed her laugh, and her odd sense of humour.

“Why don’t you come visit?” he joked, “Plenty of bodies out here. Plus it’s a cold chamber all on its own. No need for energy-wasting air-conditioners…”  
“Sounds marvellous,” she joked in return, “That’s next Christmas’ holiday settled.”

The pair laughed and then the room grew quiet again.

“Why are we here…chatting?” he asked, “Who arranged for this?”  
“The omniscience that is your brother,” said Molly, “He was worried.”  
“Worried?”  
“That the cold would get to you,” she said, “And the loneliness.”  
“I’m not lonely,” scoffed the detective.  
“That’s what I told him,” Molly said with a shrug, “But he felt otherwise.”

The detective paused, not sure of what to say. He looked at Molly sitting right before him, despite being miles away. He was not lonely, but he did miss her. She was the one who had saved him, who had literally brought him out of death. Whether it was from grace or a great height that he had fallen, she had stood by him unwaveringly. The detective exhaled in frustration as he fell back against his seat. His brother was right. Maddeningly so.

“Well, you know my brother…” he said, with a soft smile.   
“What about him?” she asked.   
“He’s always right,” said Sherlock, “But not quite, this time.”  
“Care to explain?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

This would have been easier to explain had she actually been in the room. Sherlock very much wanted to take her hand, or to kiss her lovely cheek again. The last time he had done that had been Christmas too, except under much more unpleasant circumstances. This time, it would not have been done as an apology.

“I’m not lonely, Molly,” he said. “But I do feel your absence.”

There was something awfully insincere about talking about such things across a computer, but he had no other way.

“And it’s a terrible thing to feel,” he continued, “About as bad as this freezing winter.”

Molly smiled, and wished she could reach over and take his hand, but they both knew she could not.

“Well, Sherlock Holmes, if you must know,” she said, “I feel the same way too.”

—

They had talked for hours but eventually had to say goodbye. Promises had been exchanged, just as sentiments had been conveyed, albeit less overtly. He had promised to stay safe, and she had promised to wait for him back home. Needless to say, she had wished him a happy Christmas despite the odds and he had wished her the same in return. _Have a happier one for me in London_ , he had told her. She nodded and smiled, joking that she was going to seriously consider ‘visiting nature’s own morgue’ as her holiday plan for next Christmas.

The detective left the room, feeling warmer than he had been in months. The smile she had left on his face could not be wiped off. It did not matter that she had been a visual and audio signal beamed from somewhere else into his computer. He was glad to have simply spent that time with her, however odd the medium might have been.

Before Sherlock headed for his personal chambers, he stopped by his brother’s office, knocking on the doorframe, for the door had been left ajar.

“How did it go?” asked Mycroft, lifting his gaze from a report he had been perusing.   
“Well.” said the detective, “Very well.”  
“Good. You’d better get some rest now.” Mycroft remarked, returning to his document.   
“Why did you do it?” asked Sherlock, eyeing his brother curiously.

Mycroft looked up again and raised an eyebrow.

“Do what?” he asked.   
“This… Letting me to talk to Molly.”  
“Because I know you care for her,” Mycroft said plainly.   
“I thought you said caring was a disadvantage,” remarked the detective, smirking.

Mycroft smiled and looked away thoughtfully.

“It is…” said Mycroft, “But Molly has proven the exception.”  
“I cannot disagree…” the detective replied with a small smile.   
“Merry Christmas, Sherlock,”

The detective acknowledged his brother with a nod and turned to leave. He had barely taken a few steps out of the office when he stopped, and turned back.

“Mycroft?” said Sherlock.  
“Hmm?” his brother answered, not looking up.   
“How long will I have to be here?” he asked.

Mycroft lifted his head up slowly and smiled knowingly at his brother.

“Why do you ask?” he said, “Thinking of going somewhere?”

The detective laughed quietly and looked back at his brother.

“Yes,” he answered with a smile, “London, perhaps.”

**END**


End file.
